


Talis Filius

by CurlicueCal



Series: Sons of Fathers [2]
Category: DCU, Smallville, Teen Titans
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father/Son, Feels, Found Family, Future Fic, Gen, Humor, M/M, Mash-up universe, Post-Rift, Pre-Slash, clonefeels, superheroes make the worst teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurlicueCal/pseuds/CurlicueCal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark's concerned about Kon's new habits...<br/>----<br/>In which the problem isn't that Kon has two dads but that they only really know how to communicate via epic battles over the fate of the world.  Also I continue to use and abuse whichever bits of various canons catch my fancy at any given moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At First

**Author's Note:**

> Second of a series, but this should work fine as a stand alone if you'd prefer to embrace Clark's bewilderment.

_Qualis pater talis filius. (Like father like son.) -Latin proverb_

_We are all the sons of fathers. -Arthur Penn_

———————————

The trouble with Smallville, Clark reflected, was that trouble came in so _many_ forms--it made it hard to recognize. Especially when you threw Kryptonians into the mix. Clark's parents were concerned about a sudden change in their grandson's behavior. After getting off the phone Clark gave this some thought. 

Well. Could be an alien thing. Maybe it was a meteor mutant. Or a supervillain. Mind altering drugs. Hypnosis. Pod people. Mental imprinting tech. Evil robot. Dimension double. Effect of one of the many, many, apparently endless varieties of kryptonite, and just why the heck did it come in so many colors anyway? 

Or, not to go too far out on a limb with the wacky conjecturing, there was always the possibility that it was just normal teenage drama and insufferability. 

Heck, maybe it was puppies. 

With a sigh, Clark slumped back into the chair at his kitchen table, shuffling aside the notes for the Johannsen article he was working on. He didn't have the faintest idea how concerned he should be. 

On the one hand, this was Smallville they were talking about, and Kon was a budding superhero with a reckless streak wide enough to spot from orbit. And, on the other hand, Kon's behavior change was nothing more ominous than a sudden dedication to his school work, coupled with a not too surprising tiredness and tension. Likely he was just trying to impress a girl, or something equally innocuous and teenager-y. 

And it had been years since the most dramatic outbreak of meteor-mutants, all the meteor exposed Smallville children hitting adolescence around the same time as Clark. Since then first LuthorCorp and then LexCorp had managed to clean out--or, rather, acquire--most of the area's kryptonite, and a few discreet government organizations had all but completed the job. Smallville was fairly quiet now. 

Still... 

If Kon's problem was kryptonite related Clark needed to play it careful himself. He leaned back in the chair and rolled a pen between his fingers. A sudden masochistic streak of diligence at school didn't really imply world-conquering tendencies or other lack of inhibitions so Red K was probably safely out of the picture. 

What would be the opposite of red kryptonite? Green kryptonite? Wouldn't that just be ordinary kryptonite? Why was there never a logic to these things except when there was? No, really, he wanted to know. That pink kryptonite incident had been as embarrassing as it was politically incorrect. It was like the universe had the most warped sense of humor ever. 

Maybe Kon was just settling in. That would be nice. Clark couldn't think of a person who more deserved the chance at a normal, happy adolescence, at least to the degree that those two terms weren't mutually exclusive. Kon hadn't had a chance at childhood, and Clark wanted him to have it now. After the labs...it still amazed Clark that Kon had turned out to be so...happy. But he was; a joyful, loving, giving boy, and instinctively a defender. Also quite frequently an insufferable brat and a troublemaker. 

Cadmus labs hadn't so much as dinged that insuppressible spirit. 

Maybe it was due to the accelerated aging technique the lab had used. Kon might be physically and mentally sixteen now, but he had technically only been alive for six years, and the majority of that time had been spent hooked into a computer learning interface. Maybe that had shielded him from the damaging effects of an appalling reality. 

So much of Clark's life had been spent terrified that his secret would be discovered, betrayed, that he would wind up strapped to a table somewhere, nothing more than a laboratory experiment, lines of numbers and data. 

Kon had been that experiment. 

A year since, and Clark couldn't forget the shock of discovery. 

~*~ 

He hadn't thought it would be a big job, just an abandoned project of Lionel's, another loose end to tidy up. But of course it was one of _Lionel's_ , and Clark never learned. The impact of the man's death could steal deal deadly aftershocks all this time later. 

Which was how Clark, or rather Superman, had come to be standing awkwardly in the rubble of Cadmus labs, trying to stay out of the way of the cleanup crew. The scene had been a wreck, the labs in flames, the earth plowed up everywhere as if hit by a giant hand. The government people were still hauling off kryptonite in about every form imaginable. Clark was sort of wondering if he ought to call the Justice League in on the mess. 

There was a sudden commotion of activity; the aftershocks of an underground explosion. A confused swarm of people poured out of one of the buildings. Clark had had only a moment to glimpse the milling huddle of agitated people, before a figure had broken loose, shot out from among them—and into the air. 

Blue, red, yellow. And Clark had a moment to think: _Kryptonian_ , before he was blurring off, zipping into superspeed, cutting off the figure's retreat as automatic and desperate an action as staunching a slit throat. 

Clark confronted him at a dead standstill two hundred feet in the air. 

And looked into his own face. 

Younger, like a time-warped mirror. Maybe fifteen. Clark discovering his powers. The reflection looked back, equally fascinated, less surprised. "Hey, you're Superman." 

The words stretched tight in Clark's throat, nearly strangled with tension, before he could release them. "Who are you?" 

The kid grinned—Clark's grin, with a twist—and tucked his hands behind his head. "I'm Superman, too." 

Clark looked into that smile, and—the lab, the genetics equipment, the kryptonite—flashed across his mind in rapid succession. He felt something icy twist and curl low in his gut. Fear. 

No clarity, just the deep, atavistic certainty that he was looking at something that shouldn't exist. The monster from the nightmares was real, and he wasn't sure if this mirror-child was the monster or the nightmare. 

The kid looked at him, glanced back at the labs. "I'm not staying here." 

And... _something_ ; a flicker of some emotion, crossing that face and then gone in a flash... 

The decision was irrational but instantaneous. "No. You're not." 

There were things to be taken care of first, and Clark still needed to talk to his parents. Another electric shock to the system when the government team started sifting through salvaged files. Lionel had been trying to clone Superman—and the data on that was disturbing enough to guarantee Clark nightmares of tubes and kryptonite and tiny misshapen bodies—but Lionel had used his own son's DNA to stabilize the mix. 

Superman...and Lex Luthor. 

Old memories, new memories, all of them painful, some bittersweet. 

There were a thousand reasons this was a bad idea, a million ways this could turn back to hurt Clark and the people he loved. His parents had spent a lifetime protecting him. They knew and recognized these dangers as automatically as Clark. 

He barely had to speak. 

They were Kents. They were family. Their decision was as irrational and instantaneous as his own. 

Clark brought Kon—Kon-El Luthor, Kon-El Kent—home the same day. 

And he couldn't forget, when they landed at the farm, and his parents held out their arms to their newest, unexpected, dangerous, wonderful gift— 

For the first time Clark looked into that familiar face, and didn't see his own reflection. Not in that expression. Cheerful bravado and desperate nonchalance, and farther down, nearly invisible, a muffled, panicky incomprehension that anyone would offer him something—offer trust, offer family—unconditionally, without hooks or stings. 

It was Lex looking out at him. The Lex he'd met on the bridge in Smallville; the painful, long ago memory of Lex that Clark had long since given up as a lie, a false creation of Clark's teenage insecurities and loneliness. 

And it had been a lie, but maybe not the lie he thought, because he can see it here, again. A fragment of Lex behind Clark's own green eyes. 

And just like he had a decade ago, Clark fell a little bit in love. 

~*~ 

Clark shook his head and laid his pen down on the still blank notebook, giving it up for a lost cause. Too many distractions and memories tonight. Clark shook his head ruefully at himself, wandering over to the fridge on a probably too optimistic quest for sustenance. Twenty-six wasn't nearly old enough to be wallowing in nostalgia. 

He'd spent years hating Luthor when it hurt too much to remember Lex. Righteous hatred to conquer bewildered, guilty pain. It still hurt and in honesty he still hated--too much had happened not to--but he thought maybe he'd grown up enough to examine the past a little more clearly. 

Righteous he was not. 

He wouldn't let Kon make the same mistakes. Not Clark's, not Lex's. Not the big ones, the ones that mattered. 

Of course, one of Clark's mistakes was thinking it was his job to save people from themselves. Clark was still trying to find the line on that one. 

And he might be able to see the past with clearer eyes, but he still couldn't see a way beyond the anger and suspicion of the present. No, Clark could look back, and he could reapportion blame and forgiveness and see the harsh blows of chance and the missteps of two frightened and confused boys tackling crushing responsibilities, but understanding the course they had taken didn't change the place they had arrived at. They'd been kids then, even Lex, but they were both well grown into themselves now. Even Superman couldn't turn the clock back to try things again, and the walls and patterns they'd built up between them had been forged to the insurmountable standards of two very stubborn and powerful men. 

Still, a year of seeing flickers of Lex in Kon made him want to try. 

Of course, that particular feeling tended not to survive an actual encounter with the man. Possibly a side effect of all the kryptonite. 

Giving up, Clark closed the fridge door on the lonely condiments and deteriorating leftovers and toyed idly with the notion of dropping in on the farm. See his parents, check up on Kon, eat real food. 

It was for a good cause, after all. He didn't like his parents to worry. Also: pie. 

Some decisions, at least, were easy. After all, the reporter and the superhero deserved some time off every now and again. And if it also meant he could stop obsessing over things long past and put Lex Luthor well out of his mind, that was all to the good. For one night he was going to spend time with his family and not worry about anything else. 

All of which made it that much more ironic when a half hour later saw him crashing through the large penthouse window of LexCorp Tower in a blind rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, long chapter next time. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments; they really make my day! <3  
> Here's the next, as promised.

For a brief moment everything seemed frozen. There was that quality of startled silence that only truly dramatic entrances--such as bursting through walls of glass--could generate. Clark's cape, still airborne from the speed of his flight, fluttered down around him.

Kon, good superhero child that he was, was in a semi-defensive crouch, a circle of glass on the floor around him. The couch had gone over backwards, evidently Mercy's quick work. Luthor emerged from behind it with perfect poise. Of course. 

Clark clenched his hands, feeling the pressure of his anger like heat behind his eyes. Control, control. Don't burn him just because he's a fucking psychotic bastard who doesn't know when to leave well enough alone. 

"Superman." Luthor's voice was cool, cultured, and underlain with a nearly undetectable current of furious venom. "Dramatic as always. Perhaps a wall, next time?" 

Clark snarled. No, _he_ didn't get to be angry, not this time. Not for this crossed line. "Shut up, Luthor." He strode towards the man, ignoring Mercy leveling a gun at him. 

Kon cut him off, hands up, a little wide-eyed. Part of Clark noticed that he had his Superboy uniform on. "Hey. Whoa. Let's just-- back it down a notch, 'kay?" His eyes cut over to the gun and back to Clark. 

"Kon, go home." 

"Uh huh, see, yeah, I'd totally do that, but, gee, you're acting kind of crazy and I'd feel really guilty if you guys killed each other because of me." 

"Nobody's going to kill anybody," Clark said, although he really didn't feel it. Luthor had pushed too hard. Sure, other people had been pulled in before, people like Lois or Jimmy, who went nosing into trouble all on their own, but Clark's family wasn't involved. That was the rule, unspoken but iron cast. If Luthor didn't think Kon was included in that category Clark would teach him the difference however he had to. 

"You do know your eyes are glowing, right?" 

Clark looked at the young man planted in front of him, taking in the stance, the uniform, the set of the jaw. Meeting the kid's eyes he had a moment of guilt at the wariness he saw combined with a flash of pride at the unflinching determination. Kon really was a hero. Clark took a deep breath, grabbing on to calmness with his fingernails. It was the least he could do. "Kon. Nobody's going to kill anybody. I just need to make a few things clear about the consequences of certain actions." 

"Er. Would now be a bad time to point out that I'm totally not kidnapped or anything?" 

"Oh, let's not go cluttering up that righteous indignation with anything so trivial as facts," Luthor purred. 

Kon shot a frustrated look over his shoulder. "You can stop helping any time, you know." 

And, weirdly enough, even though the man already wore calm aloofness like a mantle, Clark thought he saw Luthor make his own desperate struggle for rationality. At the least he moved away from the confrontation, retrieving a glass and a bottle of brandy from the sidebar. He also waved Mercy off, but she was no doubt used to being ordered out of the way of their chronic show-downs. It didn't stop her from glaring fiery death at him. 

Clark stomped on his own anger again, took another few breaths. Okay. Clearly there was more going on here than first looks indicated. With Luthor involved, that shouldn't be surprising. He focused on Kon. "You. Are supposed to be at a study group." 

"Um. Well. I kind of am?" Kon had the good grace to look embarrassed. "And anyway, what are you, _spying_ on me?" 

"I'm your family; it's my job." 

"Oh, it _so_ is not." 

Clark gave him a level look until Kon glanced away. Out of the corner of his eye Clark thought he caught Luthor smirking. He wasn't going to pay attention to that right now. "Mom said you were at a study session and I thought I'd drop by while I was in town." To check up on Kon, but mostly to tease and embarrass him, because wasn't that practically the job description of an almost older brother? "But I couldn't find you. Not anywhere in Smallville and I looked everywhere and I couldn't hear your heartbeat." He took a moment to glare at the kid, nobly refraining from shaking him. "I couldn't hear your _heartbeat_. Damn it, Kon, are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?" 

"Don't curse in costume," Kon said automatically. He quailed under Clark's furious expression. 

"I couldn't hear your heartbeat, and then I found it, in Metropolis, in LexCorp Towers, so _yes_ I assumed you were in some kind of trouble." Clark did not look at Luthor, leaning insolently against the sidebar, casually negligent of the way it creased his perfectly tailored suit. "And now I'm getting the impression that you're _not_ , in fact, in life threatening danger which means I may have to strangle you. You want to explain to me what is going on?" 

There was a pause. "Sorry I worried you," Kon said in a low voice. 

And that was Kon. He was never sorry that he'd done something ridiculously dangerous and nearly gotten himself killed. He was sorry he'd worried someone. Beyond that regret he was as casual with his own welfare as--and, no, that was not where Clark wanted to go right now. 

Clark took another deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Kon wasn't hurt. Kon was--despite all situational evidence to the contrary--safe. Clark needed to back off from the adrenaline rush of fear and handle this rationally. "Look. Just--just explain to me what is going on. I'm going to assume for the moment you really aren't kidnapped, high, a pod person, or under coercion." 

Kon made wide eyes. "It's scary because those are actual possibilities." He screwed up his face. "Pod person?" 

"Quit dodging the question." 

"But I'm good at it." 

" _Kon_." 

"It's comforting to know he does this to everyone." Luthor spoke without glancing up from his drink. 

Clark couldn't think of any response that wouldn't devolve into a pointless shouting match, so he chose to ignore the comment, focusing his irritation on the teenager in front of him. He was still reacting instead of thinking, blind, automatic responses, push and push back. Frankly, the situation was ridiculous enough. He was confronting the cloned child of himself and his former best friend-turned-worst-enemy for possibly being kidnapped by the aforementioned or otherwise breaking curfew. He shouldn't even have an automatic response to this situation. 

The whole thing was headache-inducing. He thought longingly of his quiet evening with his family and the uneaten pie left abandoned in Smallville. 

Clark blew out a breath and turned from Kon to Luthor. "Pour me one." 

One slow blink was the only sign Luthor gave that he was startled. He complied, wordlessly, another action out of character. Maybe tonight was the night for that kind of thing. Clark threw back his shot and wished alcohol could affect Kryptonian metabolisms. Luthor refilled the glass, still silent, and Clark turned back to stare at Kon. 

"I'm just...visiting." 

"Visiting." 

"Well, I was bored one day and it seemed like a good idea at the time?" Kon pulled out one of his artless smiles. 

"Kon..." 

"And anyway it's not like I'm going to turn evil or give any secrets away or anything so I don't see why it has to be a big deal." He shrugged, turning away to tip the couch back to its upright position with absent-minded ease. 

Clark narrowed his eyes. The smile said no big deal but the body language said... 

Well, _duh_ , Clark. You think you're the only one in the room with issues? 

The problem was he always fell into the same mindless patterns with Luthor. Reacting without thinking because it was easier and it hurt less. Maybe that had even been the problem before. 

Kon was still avoiding eye contact, crouched down to examine the mess of shattered glass. He placed one hand on the floor and bit his lip in concentration. The glass shards quivered, and then slid across the floor, pushed by an invisible hand. Clinking softly they piled up in a glittering drift at the edge of the room. 

Over the top of his drink, Luthor was watching with narrow-eyed fascination. It was a look Clark hadn't seen in a very long time, a look that made something clench painfully in his chest. A look that had made a teenaged Clark feel flattered, and important, and just a little bit afraid. _When you look at me like that can you see my secrets? If you knew my secrets, would you still look at me the same way?_

The answer, it had turned out was 'no,' or, perhaps, 'you'll never know,' because it had all gone wrong, hadn't it? 

Kon stood up, collecting a textbook and scatter of papers as he did so. He shook one battered paper out and frowned at it. "You know, the 'Superman destroyed my homework' excuse never really works out for me." 

Clark broke his reverie with a completely off topic question. "What subject?" 

"History." 

He grimaced. "Not Mrs. Greer?" 

"That's the one." 

"Ugh. I hated that class." 

Kon stuffed assorted items into a backpack. "I don't think it's improved with age." 

"Kon?" 

"Mm-huh?" 

"If I ask why you're suddenly so interested in school work are you going to answer me?" 

"Is this going to be a multiple choice test?" 

"Cute. Only Mom and Dad have been kind of worried." 

Kon paused. Clark hated to play the guilt card, but then again, what were relatives for? And it was effective. Kon's eyes slid to the side again, and his shoulders came up, defensive and defiant. "I don't see what the point is. You're just going to tell me not to come back. And I'm sorry I worried you but can we just skip the lecture? I already know it all." 

Clark watched him thoughtfully. Kon rarely slipped into adolescent bitterness but when he did it was always enlightening. If you paid attention to the right parts. "All right. But tell me anyway." 

The eyes came up, startled and wary. Clark's eyes, but with someone behind them Clark had never been. Not Luthor either, or even Lex, and that was important to remember, too. Breaking patterns. Maybe the question wasn't 'could Luthor be trusted with Kon' but 'could Kon be trusted with himself.' 

"Lex said my grades were embarrassing." With an effort Clark kept his eyes away from Luthor, maintaining his neutrality. It was enough for Kon to continue, a grin flickering at the edge of his lips. "So I figured if they bothered him that much he might as well help me with them." 

Clark snorted, pressing his lips together to suppress the smile that wanted to form. Then he wondered why he was bothering. Wasn't he trying to break old habits? 

"That's an interesting rendition of events." 

Clark turned his eyes, abruptly reminded of one of the reasons. He'd almost forgotten... well, not Luthor's presence in the room, no one but a fool overlooked Lex Luthor, but his...involvement, for lack of a better word. Which probably still left Clark the fool, considering they were standing in the newly breezy living quarters of said Luthor. The same Luthor who was eyeing them with a lance-grey gaze, face locked down like a high security facility in a warzone. 

Clark folded his arms across his chest. The gesture was defensive, confrontational, and...habit. Damn it. He uncrossed his arms and tucked his thumbs in the back of his belt before recognizing the posture as one of Kon's. Great, he was going to revert into a teenager. Maybe he could stick his tongue out at Luthor next. 

" 'scuse me, I thought I could leave out the cloak and dagger bits." 

"Something otherwise known as lying by omission." 

"I'm thinking more like artistic license." 

A somewhat ominous exchange, but there was no missing Kon's tone of friendly banter. That didn't mean anything--Kon could pull out that tone in the middle of a deadly fight. Still, Kon looked--comfortable, as he snipped at the intimidating billionaire, and Luthor's verbal claws were mostly sheathed. 

Clark glanced at the book bag, the sofa, the ruined room, and he could almost picture the scene. Kon sprawled out with a clutter of papers around him, that teenage ability to be carelessly relaxed anywhere. Luthor...what? Tolerant and distant? Ingratiating and manipulative? Overflowing with love and fuzzy-kitten feelings? 

Okay, probably not. Clark had either lost the ability to predict Luthor or he'd never had it in the first place. He didn't know what Luthor would make of this intrusive, buoyant new invader in his life. Luthor was ruthlessly protective of anything considered his--his business, his people, his name, his family--but Clark didn't know how Luthor might categorize Kon, a half-alien clone made in some game of Lionel's. Besides, he was equally ruthless about using any and all of the above to his own purposes. 

Could Kon be trusted to make a decision about Luthor? Clark had always resented the interference of his parents, his friends, the entire town, all those voices giving warnings and casting judgment. Waiting for their 'I-told-you-so's. And they'd been right, in the end. 

Except not exactly, because Lex had proven an unfailing secret keeper over the years. Partly in an unspoken nod to the possibility that Clark might snap if pushed too far; one of a thousand unwritten rules in their private, public war. But much more than that, it was the ultimate retribution for the slow corrosion of their friendship. A uniquely Luthorian "fuck you" to Clark for the lies and betrayals. 

The trouble was if Clark didn't go into angry-mode the only ready alternative he had was guilt-mode and that wasn't where he wanted to go either. Luthor would only see weakness and Clark wasn't prepared to let Luthor off the hook for his own share of the blame. And Clark really was a self-centered jerk, because once again he'd turned the issue back to Superman and Luthor; shades of Clark and Lex. Clark leaned against the sidebar, watching Kon and Luthor bicker comfortably about schoolwork and grades, and thought about Kon hiding his eyes and pretending he didn't care. 

Trust was always going to require a leap of faith, certainty something that had no place in the real world and real relationships. Clark had decided a year ago to jump off the ledge for Kon, and he wished he'd learned how to make that plunge for more people, wished he'd found a way to conquer the fear that ran bone deep. He never wanted Kon to lose that ability because safe and happy weren't the same thing at all. 

Even if Clark wanted Kon to have both. 

Briefly, he wallowed in a swell of extreme sympathy for his own father. 

"Don't forget your biology textbook," Luthor was telling Kon, sounding for all the world like he was overseeing one of the ridiculously complicated projects in his labs. 

Kon radiated doe-eyed innocence. "What, the 'piece of outdated refuse'?" 

"Yes. The one you forgot on purpose because you harbor the sad delusion that I will accept that as an excuse for not completing your homework." 

"My outdated homework?" 

Clark could have warned Kon about that glint in Luthor's eye--he'd seen it before, and even back in Smallville it never boded well. "If it bothers you I'll find you a better textbook and you can work through it independently. In fact, I probably should; the state of the public school system's science program is inexcusable." 

Kon's face was a study in horrified dismay--an expression so familiar that Clark nearly smiled. "Run, Kon," he deadpanned, "it's the only thing that will stop him when he gets like this." 

Luthor's eyes cut across the room. Clark raised his eyebrows and shrugged, setting his glass down with a clink. 

Kon fidgeted with his backpack. "Time to go?" 

"It's a school night," Clark temporized, putting off a decision those few seconds longer. He thought about the chances he wished he'd had in Smallville. He thought about how, even though he loved Jonathan Kent dearly and would never choose any other man to call father; even though his own biological father had turned out to be ruthless and manipulative and world conquering, he'd still give almost anything to get to know the place and people he'd come from even that tiny fraction better. 

In the end, the decision was almost easy, but only in the way that a decision made at gunpoint was easy. A sensation like falling, like stepping blindly into the air without knowing what might be below. _Do you believe a man can fly?_

He looked at Kon, not Luthor. "You need to be home by ten on school nights," Clark said. "And you need to tell someone where you're going. I mean it, Kon; you scared me halfway to death. You're sixteen _and_ a superhero; someone needs to know where you are. If you don't want to tell Mom and Dad, tell me, or the other way around but--" Clark cut the lecture short when it became clear Kon wasn't quite keeping up. 

The kid was staring at him with a fixed, almost guarded expression on his face, green eyes intent. He looked a lot like Lex. Clark's eyes flickered to Luthor reflexively. The man could give a hospital wall a run for its money in the blankness department. 

Kon tipped his head, finding his voice. "I can come back?" 

"I think you're old enough to make responsible choices about this," Clark said seriously. He quirked half a smile. "Certain notable bits of the current situation aside." 

"Oh," Kon said. He looked nearly as light-headed as Clark felt. Clark slipped another look at Luthor. The man was still doing his blank wall impression, but the length of time he'd been silent and pokerfaced spoke volumes if you knew how to read them. 

Oh, good. So they were all completely blind-sided. That was nice. Comforting, even. 

Kon had his brow furrowed like he was looking for the trap. "Grandma and Grandpa Kent..." 

"I'll talk to them." And wasn't that going to be a fun conversation? Kon's doubtful grimace said he recognized the understatement. As for Luthor's low-voiced suggestion, Clark pretended not to hear anything. He was pretty sure Jonathan Kent was going to take this conversation poorly enough without any kind of recording device present. Smiling doggedly, Clark instilled his words with more confidence than he felt. "Don't worry, Kon. I'll take care of it." 

He'd just have to make sure he got his pie _first_. 

Kon stared at him a moment longer, a swirl of noisy, complicated thoughts obvious behind that intense face. And then, a rush of movement and he'd halfway tackled Clark in a hug, rocking him back a few steps, and knocking a startled laugh out of him. Clark could count on one hand the number of people that could do that to him without heavy machinery, and he didn't think any of them were likely to try to hug him anytime soon, even the ones he considered friends. 

Clark fuzzed his hand through Kon's hair to watch him duck free and mock-grimace, all ruffled adolescent dignity. "You know we love you, kiddo." 

Kon looked up at him, all of the inch he had left to grow, solemn and fervent. "I won't let you down, Clark." 

_You couldn't_ , Clark wanted to say, but if Kon didn't understand that yet, words weren't going to change things. Instead he said, "We should go flying sometime. I know I've been busy." 

As expected, Kon lit up like a sunlamp. The kid hadn't developed his superspeed yet, though the scientists at Cadmus had seemed to think he would, and all signs indicated that that was going to be a pretty terrifying day for everyone not Kon. As it was he liked nothing better than to drag Clark off and borrow his speed. "Can we go on Saturday? There's supposed to be a tropical storm off the gulf coast. That would be so awesome!" 

"We'll see," Clark said, aware he was probably only postponing the inevitable at this point. Kon had a way of steamrolling forward toward an objective that just swept up everybody in his path. He changed the subject before he could make any more concessions. "Now you need to get on home and apologize to your grandparents for worrying everyone. I think I broke the door on the way out." 

"Oh. Okay." 

"Straight home, Kon." 

The kid flashed a grin. "Promise." Clark just folded his arms, and watched him stuff a few final items into the bulging backpack before slinging it over his shoulder. "You're not coming?" 

"I'll be along." 

Kon looked at Luthor, still a silent observer in the room. "Oh." He frowned, looked like he would say something, and then seemed to come to some kind of decision. He shut his mouth again, shrugged off the frown, and pulled out another cheery smile. "Bye, Lex. Want me to get the glass?" 

"I hesitate to speculate what you would do with a foot high pile of glass." 

"So that's a no?" 

"I'll have someone take care of it, thank you." 

"Well, I'll just go out this convenient hole in the wall then. You should keep it; it's airy." 

" _Go_ , Kon." 

"Bye, Mercy!" Kon called over their shoulders, lifting into the air. Clark really had forgotten her presence, and the base of his spine itched just a little when he noticed the stony-faced woman standing watch in the entranceway of the room. She didn't acknowledge Kon beyond an eye flick in their direction. Kon finger-waved at them and took off into the night, though Clark saw him frown back at them one more time before he disappeared. 

Well. It couldn't be comfortable not knowing if your biological parents were going to try to kill each other as soon as your back was turned. 

"Did you notice he went from being in trouble to getting exactly what he wanted _and_ a reward?" 

Clark startled and turned away from the window. For some reason, he hadn't expected Luthor to address him first. 

"Just wondering which side he inherited that from," the man continued smoothly, when Clark didn't respond beyond a dubious look. "I think it must be from you. I normally have to actively _try_ to manipulate people to get my way." 

It might have been a compliment or an insult, but it was probably just intended to put Clark's hackles up. He ground his teeth. "Kon's not like that." 

Luthor smiled, false and unfriendly, sliding words through the air like a knife's edge. "Not like me, you mean?" 

"Not--!" Clark cut the words off, almost smiling in his incredulity. It was rare for one of Luthor's verbal daggers to miss the mark so completely; he knew all the soft spots in Clark's armor. "Tell me you've been paying better attention than that. He's a _lot_ like you." 

Like you were, Clark didn't say. 

"Really." There was something like...surprise in that word. Confusion? Not that Luthor displayed it of course. His mask remained bland, faintly skeptical. Politely attentive business face number 27. "You think he's like me. And you're--what?--trying to save him?" 

"Kon doesn't need to be _saved_." Clark paused, moderated his voice. "But it would be nice if he didn't have to repeat all our mistakes." 

"Mistakes." Luthor turned the word around in his mouth as if trying out a novel concept or an unusually cloying pet name. "I wasn't aware Superman made mistakes." 

"Superman makes lots of mistakes." It always seemed slightly psychotic referring to himself in the third person. "I make lots of mistakes. I never said I didn't, Luthor." 

That earned him a sly, Cheshire smile. "Of course not. You're only human. Oh, no, wait. I forgot." 

Clark ground his teeth some more, clenching and unclenching his fists in frustration. This was rapidly going off message. What had he possibly hoped to accomplish with this little dialogue? He was trying to manipulate Luthor and that was like aiming a lit firecracker. You might be able to influence the direction but you'd probably lose a hand. 

And yet, like a little boy with a fascination for dangerous toys, Clark could never seem to stop himself from trying. 

"Do you ever get tired of this conversation?" With sudden intent he strode forward, invading Luthor's space, like that could press his point home. As if physical proximity had any relevance to the miles of distance between them. "Yes, fine. I'm an alien; you're a Luthor. And Kon's both, so maybe for once we can stop bickering for five seconds and try actually talking." 

Luthor stood his ground before Clark's approach, arms folded. The height difference meant he had to tip his head to hold Clark's eyes, but he still managed to give the impression that he was looking down at something very small and unimportant. "Perhaps if you knew how to do anything other sermonize and render moral judgments I might consider that worth my time." 

"Well, maybe if you'd stop turning everything I say back around on itself I could figure out how to say something that didn't hurt your stupid feelings." 

"Oh, please, don't tax yourself." 

"You--!" Clark made a desperate grab for the conversational reins again. "Can we not? This isn't what I came here to say." 

"Well, to be precise I don't think you came here to _say_ anything; although I thought the broken window was fairly eloquent." 

Clark almost growled. "That's not--" 

"No, that's not what you're working yourself up to saying just at the moment." The pretense of amusement vanished from Luthor's face; he looked cold, distant, cynical. "You're here to warn me to play nice with the kid and threaten me into good behavior. Isn't that right? To borrow a phrase: can we skip the lecture? I've already heard it all." 

"And I know you've already made your own decisions. I'm not stupid, Luthor; you've never let anything I had to say change your course before." 

"Hmh. I believe that's the definition of insanity, actually." 

"...what?" 

Luthor halfway smiled, eyes cold. "Repeating the same action over and over again and expecting different results." 

And if there was a better phrase to summarize his entire relationship with Luthor for the past half a decade, Clark hadn't heard it. Insanity. Sheer madness. His lips quirked up. It wasn't funny, really, but in some situations, those were the things you had to laugh at. He leaned a shoulder on the wall and shared the not-a-smile with Luthor. "Guess that makes us both crazy." 

Luthor paused. "Perhaps." 

The silence that followed wasn't precisely comfortable, but it was the first space in the evening that didn't resonate with anger. Nothing so large as a truce, but a point of understanding. A tacit acknowledgement of mutual truth, and it felt...nice. A relief, almost, that he wasn't the only one here still stuck going round in circles over the bones of a relationship that didn't know how to stay in the grave. Made it possible to say at least some of the words he'd been thinking about all night. 

"Luthor." Not the part about mistakes and regrets and mutual blame. But the future, personified in an exasperatingly brash young man who looked like Clark and sometimes reminded him of Luthor... "We're not kids anymore. No excuses. This is too important to fuck up." 

Luthor met his gaze with unreadable blue eyes. "You think that makes a difference?" 

"It has to." 

Luthor glanced away, his hand coming up to run across the curve of his skull. Smallville gesture, long since curbed by a businessman who couldn't afford tells. 

Clark's stomach did a weird little flip. 

Okay, now that was stupid. His face heated, then flushed harder as he came to the mortifying realization that he was standing here turning red for no good reason. Good lord, could he be any more of a teenage girl? He was pretty sure Superman shouldn't be getting flustered by old memories. Or old enemies. Ha. Ha. 

A sudden stillness on Luthor's part, hand hesitating halfway down, indicated that he had caught himself in his own action. _He_ didn't look flustered of course, though someone familiar with his demeanor could extrapolate a lot from the stiff, reserved quality of his posture. As if his personal space, already encroached upon, had transmuted from bubble to impassable shield. Clark was just grateful that the distraction had bought him time to recover something like a poker face. 

Luthor didn't fold his arms, but he conveyed the impression of doing so without moving. His voice was at its most dangerous when he spoke. "This doesn't change anything." 

No, it didn't change anything, except for the part where Luthor didn't give warnings, not to Superman. Hadn't tried to warn Clark off since Smallville days, another throwback gesture from the past. At least this one didn't set Clark's face on fire. "Of course not." Clark straightened and moved back slightly, feeling the need for some space of his own. "We're still the same people we were before." 

The words earned him a quick, puzzled look; eyes turned briefly from cold distance to suspicion. "...Right." 

And there it was again, that hint that Luthor was as off balance as Clark. It fed the little flame of hope he liked to pretend didn't exist. Giving himself a mental shake, he firmly reminded himself that one of Luthor's favorite pastimes was stomping that flame out. Besides, an off balance Luthor was prone to lashing out in particularly nasty ways. The man hated to feel vulnerable. 

Perhaps it was about time for Clark Kent-slash-Superman to beat a hasty retreat. 

Mired in uncertainty, Clark had let the silence run on a little too long, allowing Luthor's regard to shift through suspicious into speculative. He fought the urge to fidget under the force of that attention. 

Definitely time to make that escape. 

Still, it was nice to know he could still drag that much of a reaction out of the other man. It had been years since Luthor had seemed to see him as anything beyond a blue-red-yellow Superman uniform. At the moment that laser gaze seemed as if it might strip the costume from Clark, leave him bare... 

Okay, yep, time to go. 

"I should go catch up with Kon. Check on Kon." 

"Of course." Coming back from whatever thoughts were running through his head, Luthor curved his lips into a facsimile of courtesy. "Don't let me detain you." 

Something about that bland smile put a hint of a threat in the words, and Clark had a brief, disorienting moment where he wondered if Luthor was quoting Terry Pratchett books at him. That seemed improbable. It was hard to picture the ruthless business magnate reading comedy novels. 

Although Lex had always been something of a closet geek. 

He realized he was the one squinting suspiciously now, and made himself stop. How was it that Luthor could always turn these situations around on him? That was completely unfair. "Right. Uh..." Clark glanced around the room. "Sorry about your window." 

There was a brief silence in which the other man raised one sardonic eyebrow. 

Clark felt his face heat. What was he apologizing to Luthor for? Okay, yeah, this time hadn't been completely the other man's fault, but he had been being sneaky and he was still probably plotting something. Make that definitely, because Luthor was always plotting something, and it always wound up coming around to bite Clark on the butt. Apologies just gave him leverage. 

But. Clark's mother had raised him right, and maybe apologizing to Luthor on occasion was one of the things Clark could work on. Just to prove he really was a rational adult with an emotionally mature perspective on the situation. Squaring his jaw he let the apology stand. He also bit his tongue and refrained from explaining exactly what Luthor could do with his stupid mocking eyebrow. 

Because he was the bigger person. 

Right. 

He was going to eat that entire pie by himself when he got back home. He was going to get Mom to make him another and eat that one, too. It was a two pie kind of night. Clark had _earned_ pie. As well as a quiet, recuperative family evening with people that didn't drive him half crazy with fury or make his heart stutter and race or start the world spinning sickly like a tilt-a-whirl around him. 

There wasn't anything else to say, and he was, apparently, getting stupider by the minute, so he broke himself free from Luthor's cold, considering eyes and flew into the open night in search of family, pie, and home. 

Smallville had its troubles but it came through in all the important areas. 

Clark smiled and picked up speed.


End file.
